


Touch and Go

by VioletHaze



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4291473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHaze/pseuds/VioletHaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first night they share a bed it’s out of necessity</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch and Go

The first night they share a bed it’s out of necessity. Dean’s pushed further than he meant to with the driving and he’s barely going to get his four hours as it is, so when the night clerk only has a room with one double bed left, he sighs and nods his assent.

 

He thinks about offering to sleep on the floor or somehow un-making then re-making the bed to give them separate-but-equal spaces, but fuck it, he’s tired.  They get changed for bed in silence and Cas is already flat on his back under the covers (the way he prefers to sleep) (not that Dean’s ever noticed) when Dean climbs in.  After a mumbled ‘night’, Dean starts on his right side, facing away, but he must be overtired because he can’t seem to settle and he tosses and turns until he ends up on his left side, restless. When his top hand shifts and brushes up against Cas, Dean knows he should yank it back but he keeps his eyes closed and lets it rest there, just his pinky and ring finger against the firm rise of Cas’s shoulder. Cas doesn’t pull away either, but probably he’s already asleep.  A few moments later, Cas’s right hand crosses the mattress until his knuckles are resting against Dean’s left hip.  Dean’s focus narrows to these two small points of connection between them and he finally drifts off, waking more thoroughly rested than the brief couple of hours should’ve afforded.

 

They’re nearly to the eastern border of Wisconsin, just south of Sheboygan, investigating a small cluster of freak accidents but with each witness they interview it becomes more and more clear that it’s nothing but a basic haunting.  It’s good practice for Cas, though, who’s getting better at the fed stuff. Mostly he’s learned to keep his mouth shut, but he’s also tempered that unremitting stare into a solemn look that makes people feel like they’re being heard and taken seriously.  Also, somewhere along the way he’s picked up a new shirt to wear with his fed suit; deep blue instead of white.  It probably isn’t regulation (well hell, neither is Sam’s hair), but it looks good on him.

 

That night Dean doesn’t bother with pretenses, just starts on his left side, his fingers boldly against Cas’s shoulder. Cas grazes his hand against Dean’s bottom hip again, but shortly after he pulls his hand away and Dean curses his own recklessness even as his stomach sinks. He’s just about to turn onto his other side and pretend none of this ever happened when Cas’s hand is back, his fingers curled into a loose fist, lightly resting on Dean’s top hip instead. Dean smiles his relief into his pillow and slowly slides his hand until his whole palm is on Cas, fingers curled over his shoulder, forearm lying against Cas’s upper arm.

 

In the morning, everything goes back to normal. Cas doesn’t try to sneak in little touches, Dean notes, no brushing arms when they walk or feet resting against each other under the table, no prolonged press of fingers when passing the sugar. That’s good, Dean thinks. It saves them both a lot of awkwardness if Cas understands that nothing has changed.

 

They spend much of the next day locating the grave, finally finding it in an overgrown corner of a mostly unmarked cemetery. From the look of things, nobody has been out here in years, so Dean gives the go ahead to start digging while it’s still light out.  Everything’s by the book until Dean finishes salting and is just about to torch the bones when Cas, sore from the last shift of digging, reaches both hands over his head to loosen his stiff shoulders. Dean gets a glimpse of smooth, firm stomach and the cut of sharp hip bones and fumbles the lighter.  Swearing, he jumps into the grave, digging around in the loose dirt to find it.  He yells at Cas for no good reason, which he knows isn’t fair, but Cas just gestures wordlessly with the shovel to where the lighter is lying in plain sight.

 

That night, already up against Cas’s shoulder, Dean bends his knees until they rest against Cas’s upper leg. Cas responds by uncurling his fingers and resting his hand on Dean’s hip, rubbing the occasional small circle with his thumb over the hem of Dean’s shirt.

 

The next morning they check out, car packed to head back to Kansas.  Dean sits in the parking lot drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “You ever been to North Dakota?” he asks.

 

“I’ve heard nice things about it,” Cas says, looking out the window, but Dean can see the slight upturn of his mouth.

 

Dean hits speed dial #1 to tell Sam he’s picked up some rumblings about something suspicious up north (yes, he’s exactly that cringingly vague).  Despite his lack of detail, Sam doesn’t question it and he’s not going to wonder why that is, thank you very much.

 

They drive for hours in comfortable silence, the radio playing as the sun shines. Maybe Dean should say something but why make it into a big deal? Instead he soaks up the soothing familiarity of the Impala cruising down the highway, miles falling away beneath the tires, as they follow the sun west.

 

When they stop in Grand Forks, the clerk offers them a room with two doubles and Dean can’t think to do anything other than accept. He feels more than sees Cas slump beside him, feels the mood change like the air between them has thickened into something solid and impermeable. In awkward silence he opens the door and drops his bag on the far bed. Before he can say anything, Cas deposits his own bag primly on the other bed and closes himself in the bathroom.

 

This is Dean’s chance to make this right, to acknowledge what’s been happening and to assure Cas this wasn’t what he wanted. But that requires talking, which requires actual words and probably includes feelings so he does the next best thing which is to hurriedly pick up Cas’s bag and set it alongside his own.  Then, for extra measure, he digs through his bag, pulling things out and scattering them, as if strewing the meager contents creates a daunting, insurmountable mess, leaving only one usable bed.

 

He can’t look at Cas when he comes out of the bathroom; he’s literally unrolling and re-rolling a pair of his socks, but Cas sees and the mood shifts again.  They go out to eat then sit in the room and watch TV, Dean second-guessing his decision to turn north as the long, golden September evening inches toward dusk.

 

Once the sky is arguably dark, Dean, being a fully-grown adult, fake yawns a couple of times complete with over-exaggerated stretching to hurry along the process of going to bed. He’s not proud of himself, but that night when Cas opens his arms to him, he gratefully moves into them, draping his own arm across Cas’s stomach and tucking his fingers around his waist, while Cas puts one arm around his shoulders and the other back on his hip, this time with his thumb running back and forth at the edge of his waistband.

 

The next day Dean drives them west again, in nearly a straight line across the entire state to Medora. Cas follows him pliantly into the Cowboy Hall of Fame, smiling fondly as Dean leads him from one exhibit to the next, enthusiastically enumerating the Westerns he intends to show Cas when they get back to the bunker.  When they sit to watch a brief video presentation, Cas lets his knee rest against Dean’s.  They stop for dinner at the Chuckwagon Buffet where the food isn’t anything special but it’s hot and good and there’s plenty of it. Walking out the door after, Dean puts an unnecessary hand on Cas’s shoulder.

 

They still don’t talk about it, and even though Sam has oddly neglected to call and check how things are going, Dean knows it can’t last much longer anyhow. He’s already spent two days doing nothing but driving around and while there’s plenty of North Dakota left to drive, there’s not that much to see.  It’s understood they’ll head back to Kansas in the morning.

 

They curl up together that night and twice Dean imagines he feels Cas brush his lips against the top of his head, but probably he’s just laying his cheek there. Either way, it’s warm and comfortable (okay, occasionally Dean’s bottom arm goes numb) but it’s worth it.

 

Dean wakes that final morning in the thin grey light before dawn. He wakes with Cas’s arms still around him, but Cas has rolled to face him, a leg pushed between Dean’s thighs. Cas arches against him and Dean can feel him, thick and heavy even through the layers of pajama pants they’re both wearing.

 

“Dean,” Cas murmurs into Dean’s hair and Dean can hear the unspoken question, the request for permission woven into the single word.

 

Dean answers with his hips, returning the pressure and Cas, despite his difficulties with indirect communication, gets this message loud and clear. Sighing happily, Cas moves again, slowly shifting in a sleepy attempt to work up friction.  Dean bites his lip, deliberating, then bends his top knee, opening up more access and Cas makes a soft, eager noise as he slots into the crease when Dean’s thigh meets his groin.  It’s slow and languid as Cas moves tentatively and Dean almost laughs because when’s the last time he even thought about the term ‘dry humping’ much less engaged in it?

 

Cas pulls Dean closer, moaning a little when he finds an angle he likes and then nothing’s funny because Cas is using the hand on his hip to grip him more tightly, holding him in place with long fingers splayed firmly against the small of his back. He’s picked up the pace and the way he’s manhandling Dean for his own pleasure, rutting against him, has Dean struggling to catch his breath.  Cas is breathing heavily now and between the clothing and the covers and the near-frantic movement they’re both sweating. Dean has one hand fisted in the back of Cas’s shirt, working to keep himself right where Cas wants him, but his bottom arm is trapped between them so he wriggles it up enough to brush his hand over Cas’s nipple. He’s rewarded with a sound so gorgeous it makes his own nipples go hard.  He rubs the pad of his fingers over it, rolling and pinching as Cas slides the hand on Dean’s shoulders up into his hair, twisting decisively into it and now it’s Dean’s turn for a surprised gasp. With a long groan, Cas stills then jerks maybe a half dozen times as he spasms, his breath hot against Dean’s ear.

 

Spent, Cas releases his grip and sags away from Dean, adjusting himself in his pajama pants as he does so. It’s been a long time, but Dean knows that can’t be comfortable and the longer Cas waits to clean himself up, the worse it’s going to get. Cas must realize this too because he works his right arm out from under Dean and tosses off the covers.  Dean lies on his back, working to regulate his breathing, as he waits for him to get out of bed. Once he’s done, Dean figures he can at least go finish himself off in the bathroom and they can continue not to talk about this.

 

 Instead he feels two fingers at his waistband.

 

“Is this okay?” Cas whispers. “Can I?”

 

So they’re acknowledging this now. Like, with actual words. Well, Cas is at least, but Dean—forever a coward—merely tugs at the elastic in silent invitation. Cas shoves his hand down the front of his pajama pants, palming the bulge of his erection as Dean tries not to whimper. Not satisfied with that, Cas walks his fingers up until he reaches the waist of his boxers and hooks his fingers there, tugging both layers down off one hip and then the other until he has full, unfettered access.

 

Cas props himself up on one elbow and pumps his hand slowly, watching the head of Dean’s cock disappear into of the circle of his fist. “Show me what you like,” he says, voice rough and low and insistent. 

 

Dean doesn’t have to be told twice and he reaches down to cover Cas’s hand with his own, squeezing more firmly and moving more quickly. Cas follows his lead, adjusting his grip to add a twist of his wrist and swiping his thumb over the leaking head.  When Dean gets close, his hips lifting from the mattress and the heat spreading from the base of his spine, he drops his hand because he wants this to be all Cas, only Cas. With his other hand, he clutches at Cas’s arm, scratching as he tries to hold on, skin burning under Cas’s feverish touch as he comes in waves onto his stomach and his rucked up shirt. 

 

Panting, he opens his eyes to find blue ones staring down at him, locked on him with a nearly tangible intensity. Dean tries to steady his breathing while Cas finally drags his gaze away, now raking across his body to where he still holds Dean. Releasing him, Cas studies his glistening fingertips with the same serious regard he gives to every new thing he encounters and then, as Dean watches, he brings his fingers to his mouth and thoughtfully licks them clean.

 

(If sometime in the future Dean finds a magic lamp and the genie regretfully informs him that he only gets two wishes, reminding him of the time he beheld Castiel, Former Angel of the Lord, lick Dean’s come off his fingers, he won’t even be mad.)

 

Even as Dean’s processing this, Cas reaches down again, lazily dragging two fingers in the slick pool on Dean’s stomach. He brings his newly coated fingers up to swipe them across Dean’s mouth, taking care to drag leisurely over his full lower lip.

 

Dean grabs Cas’s wrist before he can pull his hand away and darts out his tongue to lick his lips. And then, because Dean Winchester never passes up a chance to show off, he takes Cas’s fingers in deep, dragging his tongue along and between them. He sees Cas’s eyes widen in comprehension.

 

Slipping Cas’s fingers from his mouth, he reaches up to cup the back of Cas’s head. “Probably shoulda done this first,” he murmurs, as he tugs him down until their lips meet. He starts slow with delicate, barely-there kisses that build until Dean tilts his head to deepen the kiss, Cas’s lips parting so that Dean can taste himself on his tongue.

 

Dean feels Cas coming to life again alongside his hip and he can’t help but smile against Cas’s mouth. He slides a hand to Cas’s chest and reluctantly pulls back from the kiss. Cas frowns at him and Dean has to tear his eyes away from his pouted lips.

 

“Shower,” he decides, “Then back to bed. We have plenty of time until check out.”

 

Cas smiles, bright as the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I travel and lay awake at night with jet lag.


End file.
